A Canadian Heroine, Volume 2 eBook

When supper was over, and Mrs. Hall had left them,
Mr. Strafford began to ask Mrs. Costello for particulars
of the arrangements made for the removal of Christian’s
remains, and when they would probably arrive at the
island.

Mr. Bellairs had had some difficulty, she told him,
in finding means of transport, but the matter had
been finally settled by his engaging a sailing-boat
belonging to a fisherman. The coffin had been
put on board early in the morning, and the boat started
at once. It ought, therefore, to reach the island
early to-morrow.

“All here is ready,” Mr. Strafford said.
“I suppose three o’clock in the afternoon
will do to fix for the funeral; the boat is sure to
be here long before that.”

“Oh! yes, long before. Do the people know?”

“Yes, I suppose most of them do. There
are not very many who remember you, but Mary Wanita
will be here in the morning to see you. Shall
you dislike it?”

“On the contrary, I shall be very glad.
Mary was a true friend.”

They talked a little longer, sitting round the fire,
when the great logs began to break through in the
middle and fall down on the hearth outside the andirons,
sending up clouds of sparks as they were put back into
the fire. The night was very still; and in the
pauses of their talk they could hear the mournful
wash of the river as its steady current pressed against
the landing-place below. To the two elder people,
who said nothing to each other of their fancy, another
presence, shadowy and silent, seemed to take its place
among them at the fireside—­a fair, serene
presence, matronly and gracious, which had passed away
from human eyes years ago. And they paused and
thought of her as she had been that winter night when
she took the fugitive mother and child into her kindly
home, and gave them all her womanly pity and help.
What lonely years had passed here since then!

By some instinctive sympathy their eyes met, and each
knew what the other’s thoughts had been.
Mr. Strafford rose.

“To-morrow,” he said, “we shall
have time for a long chat; to-night you must be tired.
I hope Mrs. Hall has done what she could to make you
comfortable.”

There could be no doubt about that. For two or
three days nothing had occupied the good woman’s
thoughts but this strange and wonderful arrival of
strangers—­of ladies, too—­at the
house where so few strangers ever came; and she had
exerted all her backwoods’ ingenuity to repair
what deficiency of comfort there might be.

They were in no humour either to be critical; and
Lucia was soon asleep, while her mother lay listening
to the sound of the river, and thinking of the many
things which this very room brought so freshly to her
mind.